6:10 to London
by Ink Spotz
Summary: Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are flying MJN Air's flight back to London after solving another harrowing case. However, the flight back to London is anything but peaceful.


**AN: I came up with this idea the other day, and thought I'd post it to see how it was received. Please leave reviews if you would like more. **

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><p>Chapter 1<p>

"You know that I abhor flying."

"Abhor? Isn't that a quite a strong word to use in this situation, Sherlock?"

He smirked his classical smirk at John as he walked down the narrow aisle to find their seats. He sat down in the seat next to the window, rubbing his sleeve against it as if it was something that needed to be cleaned.

"The word suits this situation just fine because I, and I'm not trying to fool you John, abhor flying."

"But why? I don't understand why?"

"Fine, let me relate it to you then in a way that you'll understand. It's like PTSD..."

"Now hang on a tick, Sherlock. You know that that's..."

"No, _you _hang on a tick and hear me out. It's a perfectly valid and reasonable illustration for this matter."

John let out a huff as he leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms. His eyes flicked towards the front of the small plane as he watched a man struggled up the stairs, clutching a suitcase to his chest in a possessive manner. John would have watched the odd man more if Sherlock hadn't jarred into his thoughts right then with his argument.

"You went to war and then you came home with PTSD. Your PTSD was caused by the horrors that were inflicted upon you whilst you were there. With me, I have a sort of PTSD towards flying if you will."

John snorted and rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, sure."

"I speak the truth."

"Okay then. What has caused you to garner a PTSD towards flying? Were you in a plane crash?"

He didn't move or make any motions, instead sitting stoic like a statue. John looked at him; his frost colored eyes widening with the sickening realization.

"You were in a plane crash?"

Sherlock turned his head towards the window; his raven curls hiding the expression on his face.

"Some would say that..."

"That's awful, Sherlock...I never knew..."

"...because when I was in the flight simulator trying to get my CPL, I crashed and failed..."

John broke off from his apologetic monologue then and looked at Sherlock in utter disbelief.

"You're saying you crashed during a flight simulator? Not in an actual plane?"

Sherlock nodded, still not turning his head away from the window to acknowledge John. Irritated, John reached over to slap Sherlock's arm.

"Not funny, Sherlock. I thought you were seriously injured."

"Physically I wasn't...psychologically it has left a scar..."

"Why? Why has it? It's just a bloody flight simulator! Take it again!"

"I _did!_ I took it at least four times before I...no, I can't say the dreaded words..."

John leaned in closer to Sherlock then, pressing his body against the arm rest dividing them.

"What dreaded words?"

"I gave up..." said Sherlock softly with a gulp, causing his Adam's apple to bob up and down.

"You actually gave up?" asked John as he pulled back in shock.

"Yes, and that's why I'm psychologically scarred. It's the one area in my life that I have failed to grasp any knowledge of the subject no matter how hard I try."

The man with the suitcase sat at the rear of the plane, tucking his knees up under his chin and keeping the suitcase wedged between his legs and his chest. A woman with a short stature and gray white hair proceeded to walk down the aisle and pause in front of the man. John tuned Sherlock out for a second as he watched what was unfolding.

"Sir, we have an overhead storage specifically to keep your luggage safe during flight. Why don't you store your suitcase up there?"

The man shifted his eyes to look at her, quaking slightly in his seat. When he didn't reply, the woman let out a soft sigh, daring to repeat what she had just said in a slower, more simple manner for the man.

"We store the suitcase right above your head, see?"

She reached up to open it, swinging the door upward.

"See? Plenty of room."

The man just shook his head 'no', refusing to do that. She huffed, crossing her arms across her chest.

"Sir, please don't be difficult."

In response, the man just hugged the suitcase tighter to his chest. The woman rolled her eyes and slammed the overhead shut.

"Fine. By all means keep a hold of your luggage. For all I know it could be a means of you being able to stay secure."

Sherlock turned to see what John was looking at it and smirked.

"So it appears as if it's us and a paranoid lunatic. How wonderful."

"Sherlock, cut the sarcasm. This flight won't be as bad as you think."

"I just want to get back to London already," commented Sherlock with a sigh as he turned to look out the window again.

"This was the first flight back. We'll get there soon, I'm sure."

The woman walked down the aisle towards where they were seated, pausing when she reached their seats. A look of surprise came over her face before it became clouded over with anger.

"Martin Crieff! What on this green earth are you doing back here socializing when you have a plane to pilot?"

John shot both of his eyebrows up like Sherlock did as he turned away from the window.

"Martin Crieff? Who is he?"

She rolled her eyes, reaching across John to grab Sherlock by the arm and yank him to his feet.

"Don't play games with me, Martin. I don't know what bet you have going on with Douglas now, but you must not prey upon my last nerve today. I warn you."

She dragged him roughly into the aisle while he tried to yank his arm free.

"I'm not who you think I am..."

"Really madam, he isn't!" spoke up John.

"Oh, you have a passenger in on this joke even! How very unamusing! The time for games is over. Now you're going to get dressed and do your job."

She let go of his arm to grab him by the ear. He let out intermittent "ouches" as he was dragged to the front of the plane and disappeared into the cockpit. John watched after them, wondering what he should do to try to help correct this misunderstanding.

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><p>Arthur was standing near the door to the plane, waiting for any last minute boarders. A man suddenly bounded up the stairs then; a jacket covering up the clothes he was wearing. Arthur stuck out his arm and stopped the man before he entered.<p>

"May I see your ticket?"

"Ticket?" He asked as he stared at Arthur in disbelief. "You know who I am. I don't need a ticket! I'm the bloody pilot!"

"Nope. Sorry sir. Our captain is already in the flight deck."

He spluttered, throwing his arms out to the side in disbelief.

"Arthur, how can there be? _I'm _Martin!"

"I'm sorry sir. I don't think so."

Carolyn walked behind him then, pausing when he sees Arthur bickering with someone.

"Arthur, why aren't you leading this young man to his seat?"

Martin turned to look at Carolyn; a look of desperation on his face.

"Carolyn, make Arthur see reason. I need to pilot our plane!"

Carolyn shook her head as she grabbed his arm, leading him down the aisle toward the seats.

"I'm sick and tired of everyone playing games with me. First my pilot, now a passenger..."

"But _I'm _your pilot!" said Martin in desperation.

"No, you are not, and I can tell you how I know. One, Martin is never late..."

"But Douglas kept me up all night, and when I woke up late because of it, you guys had already left. My cab got stuck in a traffic jam!"

"Quiet. Let me finish..."

She marched him down the aisle and stopped beside John's seat as she listed her second reason.

"And two, you are not dressed like a pilot nor do you behave like one."

"Douglas stole my clothes! I'm sure they're with the rest of the luggage...This was all I could find..."

"Sit..." She said in reply as she nodded her head toward the seats John was sitting in.

"Sherlock, there you are...what happened to your coat?..." asked John as he watched Martin reluctantly climb over his legs and take a seat by the window.

"He probably stored it with the rest of his luggage..."

"I didn't bring any bloody luggage. I'm telling you he swiped it off me..."

"Would you both just buckle up and stop grumbling? We're about to take off."

Carolyn turned her back on them then as she disappeared down the aisle. John turned to look at Martin, who he thought was Sherlock, as he moped out the window. He mistook the sulking for fear. He reached over to lay a hand on his arm.

"It's alright...there is nothing to be afraid of. This isn't a game, and you aren't in control. We are in the capable hands of the pilots."

Martin turned his head to look at John, shaking his head.

"We are not in capable hands at all. We are all going to die in a crash."

"Nonsense! You are worrying far too much."

"No, I really am not," remarked Martin as he watched the seat belt sign flash on as the plane roared to life. "I can positively guarantee you that one of the pilots is too sarcastic to fly this plane right, and the other, the _captain_, doesn't know how to even operate the controls."

"Stop with your analysis of everyone," said John irritated. "It really gets on my nerves sometimes when you pretend to know things about people that you've never even met. You might not even be right."

"But I _am _right. I am the captain of this plane!"

John let out a sigh through his nose as he turned to face forward.

"Always so cocky; always wanting to be bigger than your britches...give it a rest, please. Maybe someday you'll pass your CPL and then you can be a captain. However, today you are a passenger and you're going to make the flight back to London ten times longer if you don't be quiet and stop being so sarcastic."

Martin sighed as he crossed his arms across his chest. It would be Douglas' fault anyway if they had problems with the plane, not his. Maybe he should take advantage of this opportunity and just relax. He closed his eyes and let out a sigh, trying to relax himself.

"You're right...I'll be quiet and relax."

John turned to look at him with a look of utter bewilderment before shrugging his shoulders and facing forward again. Sherlock did get into weird mood swings sometimes. Maybe this was just one of them. Whatever it was, he was intent on relaxing during this flight, and nothing was about to deter him from that.


End file.
